Ripchord
I'm listening to this song an trying to figure out why I don't want to see my brother tomorrow.
(wow, I just relaized that I type really fast these days)
Tomorrow I'm going over to West Seattle and having lunch with my brother. I'm going to give him my camera for his camping trip. My mother is coming. I'm scared of my brother, so I don't want to face him alone. Scared? Why the fuck am I scared? Oh, right, he's changed too much. I'm still trying to figure out who the fuck he is. (refer to Usages of Fuck) I think I'm intimidated by how fast he's growing up, if you're going by all of the factors that mark you as an adult in the US: long term job, wife, intentions for kids, nice place, intentions to buy a house, plans and intentions for future activities. Yeah, it's a bit unnerving. What's worse, though, is that I can look at him and see him logicing his way out of tons of paper bags, all of them in fact, except the emotional ones. I'm mad at my dad because he's emotionally stunted his children. I look at my brother and I see a lot of my dad. I hate it, and it's scary, and in searching for people to blame, it's mostly my father, but I'm also mad at Alex. I feel like she's trapped him. I like her, don't get me wrong, really. I just feel like she's stolen him away. I miss my brother. It's not her fault, so I'm never openly hostile to her her, I know she doesn't deserve it, so I don't show it. It still makes me sick inside when I quash my anger. Quashing is something I learned from my father and it took me a long time to figure out that I needed to stop it. It's bad for you.
Right, also tomorrow I'm going to this glass place in the U-District. Should be fun, but I woke up this morning all out of sorts and my enthusiasm is slow in returning. I'll just have to dig in and buy the things I know I'll need when I get back out of this funk.
I haven't told my parents that I'm not getting the cabin. I'm going to get a different place. Now. Much sooner than waiting for the cabin. No, I don't care how much it costs. No, I don't care. It's easy to have money already. I hate it somehow, for making it too easy and I look around seeing that it's too hard for everyone else. Life isn't fair, but damn I wish it could be easier.
I have this feeling in my chest that seems like how a room would feel (if it was conscious and could feel) after being closed up for a long time with a certain dribble of moisture. Dank. Yes, that's the word for it. I feel like it's dank in there. I wish I could crack it open and scrape out the ick-goo-mold stuff that's growing on my pleural lining. Maybe if I stand on my head and cough the yuck will come out of my lungs.
"And I will love you again, I will love you like I used to..."
(wow, I just relaized that I type really fast these days)
Tomorrow I'm going over to West Seattle and having lunch with my brother. I'm going to give him my camera for his camping trip. My mother is coming. I'm scared of my brother, so I don't want to face him alone. Scared? Why the fuck am I scared? Oh, right, he's changed too much. I'm still trying to figure out who the fuck he is. (refer to Usages of Fuck) I think I'm intimidated by how fast he's growing up, if you're going by all of the factors that mark you as an adult in the US: long term job, wife, intentions for kids, nice place, intentions to buy a house, plans and intentions for future activities. Yeah, it's a bit unnerving. What's worse, though, is that I can look at him and see him logicing his way out of tons of paper bags, all of them in fact, except the emotional ones. I'm mad at my dad because he's emotionally stunted his children. I look at my brother and I see a lot of my dad. I hate it, and it's scary, and in searching for people to blame, it's mostly my father, but I'm also mad at Alex. I feel like she's trapped him. I like her, don't get me wrong, really. I just feel like she's stolen him away. I miss my brother. It's not her fault, so I'm never openly hostile to her her, I know she doesn't deserve it, so I don't show it. It still makes me sick inside when I quash my anger. Quashing is something I learned from my father and it took me a long time to figure out that I needed to stop it. It's bad for you.
Right, also tomorrow I'm going to this glass place in the U-District. Should be fun, but I woke up this morning all out of sorts and my enthusiasm is slow in returning. I'll just have to dig in and buy the things I know I'll need when I get back out of this funk.
I haven't told my parents that I'm not getting the cabin. I'm going to get a different place. Now. Much sooner than waiting for the cabin. No, I don't care how much it costs. No, I don't care. It's easy to have money already. I hate it somehow, for making it too easy and I look around seeing that it's too hard for everyone else. Life isn't fair, but damn I wish it could be easier.
I have this feeling in my chest that seems like how a room would feel (if it was conscious and could feel) after being closed up for a long time with a certain dribble of moisture. Dank. Yes, that's the word for it. I feel like it's dank in there. I wish I could crack it open and scrape out the ick-goo-mold stuff that's growing on my pleural lining. Maybe if I stand on my head and cough the yuck will come out of my lungs.
"And I will love you again, I will love you like I used to..."